He took Leonard and the machine to his office and put him on it for a few minutes. It worked at first, but soon the baby was wailing again. Apparently he wanted his daddy’s arms.
Smart baby, he thought. The BNM maintains a con stant temperature of 98.6 degrees, its surface has the same texture as skin, and it senses and responds to the baby’s movements just like I do, yet Leonard can tell the difference. I wonder if all babies are this sensitive.
Feeling both flattered and vaguely irritated, Pete car ried him back to the nursery and rocked him some more. No point just sitting here.
For some reason, Pete still hadn’t gotten around to having his contact lenses hooked up to the Data Channel. Fortunately he’d had a screen installed on the north wall of the nursery. Pete supposed most parents would watch something entertaining, but he preferred to read.
“Pete’s news,” he called out to the unit, and the latest stories of interest scrolled across the screen. He read more slowly than normal, but it made the time pass. Leonard finally fell asleep. Pete placed him gently in their bed next to Maya.
As he left the room, he saw that Leonard had managed, in his sleep, to burrow into the soft part of Maya’s belly. Pete smiled, and whispered to himself, “Mother Earth.”
Finally he could return to the office and escape into his work.
CHAPTER 44
TRUTH MACHINE TWO
Dallas, Texas
August 13, 2049—Three days after ATI’s 25-year patent on the ACIP expired, the company announces it will offer ACIPs for outright sale to augment the leasing program already in place. Seven other companies, including Intel and CyCare Systems, have already brought competing Truth Machines to market, but analysts predict that based on reputation and name recognition, ATI will retain at least a 70-percent market share for a decade or more.—A worldwide referendum to decide whether certain historical figures should be cloned is scheduled for September 17. Albert Einstein and Nelson Mandela are slated as the first two subjects, because of their irreplaceable intellectual gifts and the availability of near-perfect samples of their DNA. The vote is expected to approve the experiment.
Pete’s time ran out before the horse could talk.
He had always understood, in a general way, how it would end for him: some damn licensing scip or another. But he could never foresee the specifics. Until now.
Several times a year, Pete had subjected himself to scips for various reasons. Over the previous 12 months he had taken day-trips to Australia, South Africa, and Norway on ATI business, applied for a gyro pilot’s license, visited an undersea city, and renewed his voter registration. Usually his licenses were for activities like these, things he could abstain from or at least delay if he had to. But as long as the agencies used ACIPs, he wouldn’t have to.
Unfortunately the World Parenthood Department had just installed CyCare Truth Machines; it was the largest government account ATI had lost since the patent expired. Pete would be questioned within five days of the birth of their second child, scheduled just four weeks hence. He would be unable to pass the scip because of one question, the same question that was asked at every license application interview, every customs checkpoint, and every employment interview: Have you committed any felony since April 30, 2006, for which you have not confessed, served sentence, or received amnesty?
He would also have to pass the Steinberg mental illness test, which would probably also be impossible.
If he refused to answer the question or to take the Steinberg test, his parenting license would be automatically revoked. He and his wife would then have the option of divorcing or losing both sons to adoption. Neither was acceptable to Pete. He would rather die.
He had known the next generation of Truth Machines was coming for quite some time, but now realized he’d been keeping himself in a state of denial. The problem was that for the past 20 months, he’d been truly happy—the happiest he had ever been.
Pete knew he still wasn’t a paragon of patience, but he was calmer and less obsessed. Strangely, his work on the computer models didn’t suffer much, in spite of the new demands on his time. His family gave his work more purpose; aging cessation might bestow immortality. Now the undertaking was for concrete beneficiaries, unlike the abstraction that was the rest of humanity.
Pete was glad Maya had opted for an artificial womb pregnancy this time; he would have hated to start the conversation he’d been dreading if she had been carrying the child herself.
“Maya, please sit down. I have something to tell you. We need to make a decision.”
Maya suddenly found it harder to breathe, as though air had been siphoned from her lungs. She sat down carefully. “This has to do with the dark secret, the secret you warned me about when you proposed, doesn’t it?”
“Yes. Please forgive me. I’ve done three horrible things in my life—all more than 25 years ago.”
Maya said nothing. She stared at him, waiting.
“I used stolen algorithms to finish the ACIP. Then I reprogrammed the ACIP so it wouldn’t work on me.” He paused, giving her a moment to digest the implications, and added, “Five months after that, I killed Charles Scoggins.”
He waited for a response, but Maya kept silent and perfectly still. So he explained about Kilmer and the blackmail and Reece and the murder and ultimately, his years of guilt and fear.
“Maybe I’m no different than Scoggins. Maybe he was right.”
She glared at him and finally spoke. “Damn you!”
“M-Maya, nobody else knows about any of this. But they’re using CyCare Truth Machines for the parenting scips now.”
She understood immediately and remained speechless again for nearly a minute. Pete’s secret was worse than anything she could have imagined.
As the silence surrounded them, Pete’s insecurities dominated his mind.
Will she leave me? Now he couldn’t even look at her while he spoke. “I swear I’ve never lied to you, and I never will. Can you possibly forgive me for what I’ve done?”
Everything he’s ever done since I’ve known him has been above reproach, Maya thought. Even withholding his darkest secret from me until now was correct. If he’d told me, I’d have been legally bound to turn him in. If I were in his position after we’d fallen in love, I would have handled it the same way. But how can he think of himself like that?
She finally answered. “Forgive you? Look at me.”
He gazed into her eyes and heard the words: See, Pete. You’re just like me. The voice was reaching him—all the way from hell. She hates you, Pete.
“There’s nothing to forgive,” she said, taking both his hands in hers. “I can’t believe you’ve been carrying this around all these years. Scoggins implanted these doubts in you. Scoggins was a sociopath! You’re letting a dead sociopath manipulate you. Don’t you think I know you, Pete? I can see clear to the bottom of you. You’re a good man. Enough of these doubts. There’s no time for them anymore. All I want us to think about is—how do we keep them from taking you away from us?”
They both wept, and held each other close.
Pete listened for Scoggins’s voice, but it was gone. Maya had smothered it. At last.
* * *
He placed the call. “David, I have a problem. Would you represent me as my attorney?”
“I’ll be there within the hour and we’ll talk about it.”
He arrived in 20 minutes. Pete told him everything. Maya remained with them, but never said a word. The conversation lasted seven hours.
David was calm, more sad than shocked. Imagine keeping such secrets for 25 years. If only he’d told me this while I was President. I could have pardoned him.
But there was no point in saying that; obviously Pete hadn’t wanted to put him in such an awkward position. The only issue that mattered now was how to best deal with the situation. What did Pete want to salvage most? His life? His reputation? His family’s security?
His answer surprised David.
“If y
ou can’t save my life, at least try to arrange it so I can finish my work. I could be done with the models in less than a year. Maybe my sons won’t have a father, but they might live forever because of what I accomplish. Just knowing it’s possible would help me face everything I have coming.”
“That’s a reasonable request and almost certainly attainable. If you agreed to turn yourself in now, I’m sure I’d have no trouble convincing the Attorney General to grant you a one-year delay prior to any death sentence. It’s well within his power. Unfortunately amnesty isn’t, but that’ll be our goal. Amnesty can only come from the World Tribunal and they rarely grant it. I won’t give up, though. There has to be a way, Pete. You don’t deserve to die.”
On August 28 David called to make an appointment with Texas Attorney General Carlton Shaw, whom he had once met during his second presidential term. David liked and respected the tall, mustached, 66-year-old native Texan, an amiable but careful man, regarded as a scrupulous though very tough prosecutor.
Naturally Shaw was willing to meet with the former U.S. President on a moment’s notice, anywhere, any time.
But David insisted, “Carlton, just treat me like any other attorney.”
They agreed to meet at Shaw’s office nine days later at eight a.m.
AUSTIN, TEXAS—September 7, 2049
David arrived alone.
The office was small and cluttered. Shaw and West were both born during the infancy of personal computers, but unlike David, apparently the Attorney General could never bring himself to go paperless. It was the messiest office David had seen in years. They talked for a few minutes about nothing in particular, then got down to business.
“My client’s a famous person who committed serious crimes, including murder, over 25 years ago,” David explained. “Since then, he hasn’t perpetrated any illegal acts other than perjury related to the earlier crimes. He wants to turn himself in, but won’t unless he has your assurance that if convicted and scheduled for execution, he’ll be allowed a 12-month delay of sentence. He needs the time to complete an important scientific project.”
Shaw was incredulous. “How in God’s name did he escape detection?”
“Before I answer that, do we have a deal?”
Shaw hesitated a second or two, but it felt like an hour to David.
What’s taking him so long? This should be an easy decision.
Then Shaw asked, “You said no other crimes in the last 25 years?”
“Except perjury about the original crimes.”
“If what you’re saying’s true, and I assume it is, then yes, you’re damn right we have a deal.”
Whew!
Shaw had no precedent for this discussion. Since the ACIP had become ubiquitous (in Texas there were now more ACIPs than video screens), the Texas judiciary hadn’t prosecuted a single serious crime that had occurred more than four months prior to trial. Yet David’s client had committed crimes 25 years earlier.
“My client’s name is Randall Petersen Armstrong.”
“Holy shit!” Shaw exclaimed, jaw dropping.
“I suggest we release this entire meeting into public archives immediately. I don’t think I have to tell you what could happen if we withheld any of it.”
Shaw shook his head. “Damn. I shoulda known who your client was. Who else could’ve fooled the ACIP?” He tried to remain calm as he thought about the ramifications. What if everyone now believes that some people can lie with impunity?
Pete’s cooperation would be crucial in mitigating the crisis of confidence that would follow the announcement of his confession. People would suspect that the Truth Machine, the most important component of all human interaction, had been rendered useless. Without the confidence it created, civilization could revert to darkness and despair.
“Of course I agree,” Shaw continued. “We need to go public with everything right away. You know, I’ve often wondered what would happen if somebody figured out how to beat the Truth Machine. An evil person might do terrible things if he could lie without getting caught. Such a person could amass unlimited wealth and power.”
Shaw was suggesting that this “evil person” could be Pete. David set him straight. “What you say is true, but what you’ve implied is not. Pete Armstrong was already the wealthiest person in the world long before the ACIP was approved. He never used his crimes to enrich himself—his motives were always altruistic.”
“I sure hope the rest of the world believes that.”
“I think most people will. Remember, almost half the people alive today were educated under scip; we’re all a bit more rational these days. As students, most people were conditioned to be intellectually honest. They actually had to learn how to think, rather than just temporarily memorize facts and pass a bunch of tests like we did back in the olden days.”
Shaw laughed, beginning to understand why everyone liked David West so much. “People may be smarter in general than they were 25 years ago, but not in every way. In some ways, the Truth Machine’s been a crutch. Don’t get me wrong; every day I thank God for the ACIP. But I regard our dependence on it as its biggest drawback. Before the ACIP, we dealt with an incredible amount of uncertainty—both in our careers and personal lives. It takes a special kind of intelligence to deal with the possibility that every statement anyone makes to you might be a lie. Today things are a lot more cut-and-dried. The part of our brains that used to deal with uncertainty might’ve atrophied a bit, don’t you think? Take away the Truth Machine and you’re gonna see people who can’t deal with life at all.”
“That’s true, Carlton, but there’s no cause for alarm; the Machine’s still viable. Pete Armstrong has a bigger stake in the ACIP’s credibility than anyone. He’s willing to submit to a thorough questioning. Today if you want. You can scip him using any of the other companies’ Truth Machines. Pete is the only person alive who can pass a scip on the ACIP without telling the truth, and he absolutely cannot fool anyone else’s machine. The problem goes no deeper than that. You have my word.”
Shaw believed him, but still glanced at his wristband ACIP just to make sure the light was still solid green.
Then the two attorneys negotiated details of prosecu tion. Agreeing to allow an unprecedented seven months to prepare their case, Shaw promised that Pete would not be incarcerated prior to or during trial, and also acceded to a panel of five jurors rather than the usual three. But Pete would be required to have a transmitter microchip imbedded in his skull to monitor intentions of suicide or flight.
David agreed.
One hour later, on the basis of their deal, Randall Petersen Armstrong formally confessed his crimes. The entire conversation between the two attorneys and Pete’s complete confession were released to public archives the next morning. The transcripts were analyzed by thousands of experts, both human and machine, throughout the world. Unanimously it was agreed that the ACIP was still sound.
CHAPTER 45
MICHAEL
Austin and Dallas, Texas
September 8, 2049—The World Health Department announces that Medicomp will pay for bionic restoration of all disabled people unable to afford it themselves. The coverage will be phased in over a period of three years, on a schedule beginning immediately with eyesight equivalence. Limb replacement coverage will begin 75 days from today. Artificial hearing will be covered after 180 days. Spinal cord injuries, being the most complicated and expensive bionic procedures, will begin last. Approximately 3.4 million disabled persons worldwide are eligible for the free treatment.—The World Justice Department announces that Randall Petersen Armstrong has formally confessed to several serious crimes, including the murder of ATI executive Charles Scoggins. The crimes occurred approximately 25 years ago and Armstrong hid them by reprogramming the ACIP not to detect his lies. A major panic follows the announcement, with the World Stock Exchange reflecting a 17-percent drop in average share prices during the day’s trading. President Merrill attempts to reassure the world on real-time comprehen
sive media feed that there is absolutely no evidence that the ACIP has been compromised in any other way. The transcript of Armstrong’s confession is immediately released.
The day after his confession, Pete was able to pass his parental license scip in time to witness the birth of his second son. The Steinberg tests were scored as “inconclusive, probable IDD, therapy recommended but not required.”
Pete and Maya watched in awe as their baby boy was removed from the polymer womb. Born September 9, 2049, Michael Edward Armstrong weighed 7 pounds, 14 ounces.
The day after Michael’s birth, Pete and David spent an entire afternoon discussing strategy, and another Michael came up in the conversation: 20th-century financier Michael Milken. Accused of numerous technical crimes, Milken had believed himself innocent. He was shocked at the doggedness with which prosecutors had pursued his case and the questionable tactics they had employed. In fact, no person had yet been prosecuted for any crime to which Milken ultimately pled guilty, and his plea to those infractions was coerced by threats of prosecution against family and friends.
“But remember, you have a big advantage over Milken,” David told Pete.
“What advantage is that?”
“You’re definitely guilty.”
Pete understood. Milken’s problems had been magnified by ambiguity. Because he was regarded as a symbol of greed and corruption in the 1980s, not as a human being, people wanted to believe him guilty, even if they didn’t understand the accusations. In the court of public opinion, he had already lost.
Prior to the ACIP, criminal attorneys usually forbade clients to discuss their cases before trial; any statements could be used against them and tended also to limit strategic options. After the ACIP, these attorneys became more flexible, for obvious reasons.
Pete was undeniably guilty of grave violations of the law, but David believed if people got to know the real Pete Armstrong, they would understand and forgive his crimes. Popular opinion might affect the outcome of the trial. If not, it could influence the verdict on appeal.
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